Kings Killer
If this is the first time you’ve heard of the “Kings Killer”, it’s best you stop reading right here. It’s not going to be a pleasant experience, and my conscious is already heavy as it is. If you have heard of it though, then let this writeup serve as a warning. A few weeks back, my friend Nathan was talking to me over lunch about some weird things he’d heard about online. He was always the type who’d browse a lot of occult/paranormal forums. He wasn’t a satanist or anything like that, but he had a bizarre fascination with various rituals and legends floating about. He had come across a chat room for fellow paranormal enthusiasts in the Brooklyn area. There were lots of familiar legends he’d seen. Demons, vampires, possession, all the popular stuff. But there was one thing he saw that intrigued him. Someone had come on the chat room asking about the “Kings Killer”. Apparently, there were a number of mysterious killings across the country, most of them concentrated in Brooklyn. The cause of these death in these cases made no sense. In one incident, a woman named Leslie Brooks was found in her apartment with her lungs filled with water. There was no sign of forced entry or her having been dragged around. She had died between 10:30 and 11 PM in her apartment, somehow of drowning. The biggest problem? The water wasn’t running anywhere in the building. There were various similar cases. People found shot full of holes with no bullets nearby. Rotting corpses belonging to people alive the same day. All of them killed between 10:30 and 11 PM. Due to the late hour, there were only a few eyewitnesses who were able to provide any useful information to these crimes. The ones who did reported seeing a bald man with pale skin walking around the area, but nobody saw him actually commit the crime. Nathan described to me how the reports of these cases checked out. Some of them spanned up to 20 years ago. I didn’t believe him at first. That day, I thought he was just trying to pull something on me. Until he messaged me that night. He had been on the chat room again. This time, someone was talking about how they were investigating the Kings Killer. He claimed to be close to “figuring it out”. He refused to divulge information, so at first Nathan thought he had just been a troll. But it was the other peoples’ reactions that interested him. They were all trying to dissuade the guy from investigating further. That’s when they started posting screenshots. Old logs of the chat room showing other users posting about their investigations. None of the previous investigators were online. Nathan told me he didn’t understand exactly what was going on until he saw that one of the usernames was familiar. It matched the name of one of the victims. It was this night that we both discovered the basic pattern of the Kings Killer mystery. People investigate the killer, in some cases digging deep into the reaches of the internet and public records to do so, and every time they get deep enough, they die. Nathan and I agreed that even if there was a lot of BS here, there was something genuinely creepy about this. We both resolved to put aside the Kings Killer, and he told me he’d stop visiting the chat room. We didn’t talk much until the next weekend. He needed to move some stuff from his office, so I came along to lend a hand. I was moving some items for his printer when I came across a stack of recently printed documents. One of the papers, right near the top of the pile, caught my eye. I picked it up and saw, surprisingly, that it was a picture of Nathan from more than ten years ago. That was when we first met, in high school. More bizarre, it had a date printed below the picture, roughly matching the time it must have been taken. In addition, there was an address. After a few moments of trying to remember, I realized that the address was the apartment Nathan lived in back in those days. When I asked him about it, he tried to brush me off. He claimed it was just for “some project”, but didn’t give any details. When I kept pressing him, he got frustrated, so I dropped it. He seemed off for the rest of the day. When we finished the work, he gave me a ride home. That was when he said something very strange. “How much would you risk, to get what you want?” he muttered. When I asked him what he meant, he shook his head and said “nevermind”. When I got home, my mind immediately went to the paranormal chat room. I pulled up the website he’d found it on. After a few minutes of calming my nerves, I made up a random username and logged in. The chat room only had a handful of people online. It didn’t seem like many of them were active. I decided to go out on a limb and ask if Nathan was around. People didn’t react to that well. One of them asked me what I was doing here, and threatened to kick me. Another said quickly that “He hasn’t been on all day.” I them that I was Nathan’s friend, that I was concerned about some of his recent behavior. The people in the room seemed skeptical, and they told me to stop going after this. I kept pressing. I mentioned him printing out the stuff about his childhood. The people on the chat room were pretty quiet after that. Finally, someone responded. “He’s already down the rabbit hole,” the user said. “There’s nothing you can do.” Apparently, I learned that night, those who investigate the Kings Killer find themselves playing a game. To get further in that game, they have to give out more and more of their personal information. That’s the only way to get closer to the killer. Now you’re probably wondering, why the hell would anyone play this game? Nobody gave me a straight answer. Either they didn’t know or they didn’t want me to know. After hours of searching, I finally went to bed. Must have been 2 AM or later, and I had my morning shift at 8. I knew I should have gotten some sleep, I owed that to myself, to Nathan, but it never seemed to come. I remember lying in bed, just staring at the ceiling, God knows how long. Nothing really was unusual that night. But it all seemed overwhelming. The orange glow from street lights creeking through the edges of my blinds, the faint beeps and grinding of cars, the scratching of rats crawling through the vents. It was too much. I couldn’t even close my eyes. Then something else joined in. A low, continuous breathing, coming from right behind my head. I thought at first it was just the vents firing up, but there aren’t any vents behind my bed. I couldn’t couldn’t turn, I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t move, I could just stare up at the ceiling as the breathing became louder and louder. It kept building up, until it started to take shape. I could hear it just start to utter a word, and then suddenly everything stopped. I closed my eyes, shifted to my side, and seemed to fall asleep. I say “seemed” because you can never really remember the moment you fall asleep. You only remember waking up. And when I woke up, I was sitting at my desk, laptop open, the screen currently on the login page to the chat room. I checked the time. It was 8 PM. Shit. I’d missed work. I got up, went to the bathroom, and the first thing I noticed in the mirror is I was wearing different cloths. Nothing unusual, the type of shirt and jeans I’d usually wear to my shift. I just didn’t remember changing into it. My face was cleanshaven. I had a stubble the other day. I could even see the scratches of a shaving cut on my chin. What the hell had happened? After rinsing my face, I got back to my desk. I immediately pulled up my phone, expecting to see countless voicemail messages from my boss complaining about my absence. There were none. My heart raced, and I immediately phoned her up. After two rings that seemed to last forever, she picked up. “I’m really sorry,” I said. “I’ve got no excuse for my actions, but-” “What are you talking about?” she interrupted. She went on to congratulate me for my work today, how I’d been more productive than ever. I was silent almost the entire time. I didn’t know what to say. That I’d lost my memory? I just thanked her at the end and said I’d been confused about something else. When I ended the call, I started entering Nathan’s number. I needed to talk to him. If he knew what was happening to me, I needed to know. Before I could finish entering the number, though, I got a call. I almost dropped the phone in shock. It was Nathan. When I picked it up, Nathan sounded casual. He asked how things were going. I was so taken aback that I just said everything was fine. Sometimes I feel that was my biggest mistake, looking back. I could have spoken up, said something. Maybe it would have helped him. Or maybe it would have cut him away. For a while, he kept things pleasant. Then it started to break down. He was forcing the conversation to seem normal. Kept talking about things like the weather or his commute. His voice began to waver. Eventually I just snapped, and asked him if we was OK. “I’m closer,” he breathed. “I’m getting so close.” “Is this about the killer?” I demanded. “Listen, you need to stay away.” He laughed. “Look,” he said. “Just don’t worry about me. I’ve got a good feeling about this.” He hung up, leaving me staring back at the login screen. I needed to figure this out. I needed to help my friend. I logged in, and found myself back on the chat room. I asked, more aggressively than before, about the Kings Killer. People didn’t bite. They said stuff like “idk”, “gtfo troll”, or just “lol”. Eventually they started losing patience. The mod threatened to kick me. I told them what was happening, the loss of memories, the breathing noises, the paralysis. All the mod said was “im sorry :(“. Then I got kicked. I went to bed. There were no strange noises this night, no endless staring. I went to sleep, got up the next morning, and ran through my day normally. I smiled at coworkers, did all my tasks, ate my food, laughed at jokes. I even met up with some friends after work to play basketball. But I was putting no thought into it. It was like breathing, I just went through the motions while I kept thinking about the killer. Where could he be, what could he be, how could I save Nathan? It was only when I finished dinner, and got back to my desk at 8PM that body and mind finally came back together. There was no point checking the chat room. I searched through online forums, only catching brief mentions of the killer. Threads with one or two posts that hadn’t been updated in years. Some screenshots from 4chan of posts that quickly devolved into memes and inside jokes. So much garbage. When I came across a Cragslist ad titled “looking 4 king’s killer” I almost dismissed it immediately, until I saw the name: “lbrooks86”. Leslie Brooks. The woman who’d died. Had that Craigslist ad lead to her death? Had it just been a coincidence? I pulled up the list of people who were suspected to have been victims. I searched through craigslist for anything related to the King’s Killer. There were a number of ads searching for it. Every victim, it seemed, had posted one. They’d made no attempt to hide their names, phone numbers, or addresses. When I finished the list of victims, I started looking through some of the other posts, until I found exactly what I feared: an ad by “nathan92”. I tried calling him, but he didn’t pick up. I texted him, but doubted he’d reply. Desperate for some way to get in touch with him, I pulled up his facebook, where I saw he’d recently changed his profile pic. It was his usual picture, a selfie taken under a streetlight, giving his usual stupid grin. But scrawled on top, over his head in what had to be some lazy MS paint, was a yellow crown. He had been coronated. Some of his other friends commented. The early comments were just jokes, stuff like “Make way for His Highness!” and such. After a certain point, though, people started asking him if he was OK, if this was a reference to something, if he was trying to send some message. His reply to each and every comment was the same: “3:D”. I sent him a private message. “Wtf is going on???” I typed. His reply was the same as in the comments. “3:D”. “You’ve been hacked.” I typed. I didn’t know what purpose there was in sending it, but I wasn’t going to play some game. He replied. “Not hacked, given. His x-change. 3:D” So this was what he meant by going closer. He’d given over control of his social media. I checked his twitter and instagram. Same thing, the crown posted over his head and the 3:D emoticon spammed everywhere. I panicked. I went back to the chat room. I didn’t know what I was expecting to find, I just wanted to get something. Answers, reassurance, something. I told them my friend had been “crowned”. This time, people responded quickly. “dude, this isn’t funny” “gtfo troll” “hes made up his mind, what are u trying to do bringing the shit here” Eventually, a mod of the chat sent me a private message. “Look, at this point, you know more than we do,” he wrote. They were probably right. I was going to have to figure this out first hand. I didn’t sleep that night. I tried a few times, but every time I laid down and closed my eyes some kind of fierce dread covered me, like I knew someone was watching me. I kept the lights on. I kept the door to my bedroom locked short, and put a chair in front of it for good measure. I kept the blinds sealed, but couldn’t resist the urge to peak out every now and then, just to see if anyone was looking back. Eventually, it became too much. I couldn’t stay in here, trapped. It was around 2 AM when I went outside. Nathan lived a good 30 minute walk away, but I decided to trudge all the way along. When I showed up at his apartment, I knocked on his door. I didn’t care how late it was, whether people would think I was trying to break in or anything, I just needed to find him. His roommate Justin answered. Surprisingly, he wasn’t angry or confused. “Is this about Nathan?” he immediately asked. I nodded. “I don’t know what’s up with him,” he continued. “He got up an hour ago, said he was gonna grab a drink. He’s been acting weird this whole week.” “I’m trying to help him,” I said. “Any idea where he’s at?” “Well you know where he likes to hang,” Justin replied. I understood immediately. The Slippery Slope, only two blocks down. Nathan and I used to hit that place all the time. Decent beer, mediocre music, but it was a place where we had a lot of memories. I remember we went there the day he turned 21. He’d grown up in a fairly conservative family, never had much experience with alcohol or partying. He’d been hesitant at first, but I managed to drag him along. He got totally wasted. Tried to pick up a few girls, got rejected harder each time. Eventually I called a cab and we went back to my place, where he puked in my sink and crashed the couch. The next morning, I asked him how he was doing. He told me it had been the best night of his life. I was there in a few minutes, so out of breath my chest hurt. Nathan didn’t see me when I walked in. He was there in a back corner of the place, at a booth table. I didn’t want to show myself quite yet, so I sat down at table outside his field of view. I ordered just a light beer, and kept my eyes on him the whole time. He was sitting alone. He’d ordered a martini, but wasn’t drinking it. Every now and then he looked at his phone. We must have both been sitting there awkwardly for a full half an hour. It was 3:30. Just half an hour until the place closed. That was when he got up. It was so sudden I didn’t have the chance to hide myself. He turned around and saw me. He held his hand over his face and walked towards me. He sat down at my table and leaned down, showing his face. He smiled. “Look,” he said. “I appreciate it, a lot. But you can’t follow me.” “Dude, just cut this out!” I snapped. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s not-” “I’m gonna win, I know it,” Nathan cut me off. “He’s here, you know. All I need to do is see his face and post it online, before he finds me and does the same.” I asked him how he knew this. That was when he told me he’d gotten a text saying I was there. I looked around, my heart racing. The whole place was so poorly lit, I couldn’t see anyone beyond an outline. “Why are you doing this?” I demanded. “What’s the point of all this?” Nathan shook his head. “If I told you, you’d only want to try it yourself.” He got up again, concealing his face. He walked towards the men’s bathroom. I should have followed him. I should have insisted on staying by his side, no matter what. I should have been a better friend. But I wasn’t. I put down a couple bucks for the beer and ran. I went out the door and kept walking, all the way until I reached my apartment. It started to rain and I must have caught a cold that night, because I was shivering and coughing until the sun came up. I called in sick and stayed inside all day. Justin called me a few times throughout the day. Texted me a bunch too. I didn’t have the courage to even look until that evening. I only said a word or two when I finally called him back. Nathan was found dead that morning, on his apartment’s rooftop. Cause of death: heat stroke. In the pouring rain. Nobody had seen him walking upstairs. Nobody had even seen him leaving the bar. All I know right now is this: nothing matters anymore other than finding the killer. I don’t care about any reward. I failed my friend, so it’s just my duty. I’ll update this blog as I make progress, but don’t try to follow my steps. You’ll just be making the same mistakes I did. Category:Beings